The occasional gleam resolved itself into a small glittering object that rose above the horizon, twinkling like a thousand stars caged into some strange, mystical lantern. Now, with this sparkling image before them, he had a better frame of reference for their speed. The city, although that word seemed even stranger now as he beheld the thing floating in space, grew at a frightening speed.
As they continued to soar toward the distant object that had to be Penumbra, details began to resolve out of the glimmer. Marcus’s first impression was of a flat shape tearing at them out of the night. Tall needles seemed to stick up out of the general mass, stabbing up and down without any sense of planning or organization. Soon, the needles resolved themselves into glittering spires.
As they continued to close, he saw that the city was not spherical at all, but rather U shaped. A sweeping arm reached out on either side, each bristling with towers, embracing a gulf between them that glowed with a cold blue light. A hole set into the material of the planetoid shimmered with deep azure light, and a glittering, meandering ribbon of diamonds floated out and away, reaching down to the planet far below.
The most disconcerting thing about Penumbra, as they continued to close with the floating city, was the jagged, random orientation of the many towers. They slashed out into the darkness in every direction, although the majority of them, oriented above and below the plane of the place, reminded him of pictures he had seen that featured city waterfronts, with a city rising above while its reflection fell away beneath.
As they continued to close, he noted that each tower sparkled with countless lights. Many were oriented along the flanks of the towers, like portholes in a cruise ship. Others, however, followed more esoteric patterns, in circles, spirals, or scattered with no pattern at all. It was as he tried to follow the patterns of these windows that he realized how varied the design of each tower was. Some of them were very similar to each other, but for the most part, there were as many sizes, styles, shapes, and colors as there were towers. He could tell that each was fastened to the massive thing that lurked beneath it all, lending the city its shape and substance. The towers disappeared into a layer of iron skin that seemed to engulf the far aft aspects of each ancient ship.
As they rose up over the city, they could just make out a flat area at the apex of the U, where a semicircle of dull bronze metal, lower than the steel skin, swept around and surrounded a small dome-like structure, the only structure that stood all alone as far as they could see.
“It’s a mess.” Justin’s head swiveled wildly as he tried to take it all in. There were so many different designs, most of them defying any kind of analysis at all. Although the majority was long and thin, giving the appearance of a city Human minds could grasp, others were squat, or bulbous, or organic. Marcus couldn’t even begin to imagine the internal layouts of some of the stranger specimens.
“How do you tell which way is up inside those?” Marcus was looking closely at a massive red tower with fewer window ports than most of the others. The construction managed to convey a sense of menace despite being locked into place for God alone knew how many thousands of years.
“Each tower was once an independent starship. They each have their own power and life support runs, as well as gravitic controls. All powered by the Core now, of course, and maintained by their inhabitants, or by the administrator’s office. But they all still use their original systems.” Her seat began to rise, moving her toward the view screen and shouldering the two Humans back to either side. “Now, if you don’t mind, please take your seats as I bring us in.”
They could see, now, a flurry of traffic swarming around a scattering of bright rectangles in the armored edge of the city’s crust, a few towers over from the tall red one he had been looking at earlier. The rectangle was teeming with small, glittering shapes. The entire thing looked as chaotic as the entrance to an agitated bee hive.
“We’re going in there?” Marcus backed in to his seat, which lifted up to accept him and give him a better view as the entire chamber seemed to alter, as if the head of the ship were lowering.
“This is the closest port to the control center.” Angara’s head bobbed a bit as she spoke, as if by the very motion of her neck she could make the ship weave through traffic that seemed increasingly intent on barring their way. “It also happens to be the main docking bay for this sector of the wing, so always busy.”
Marcus was trying to study the other ships as they zipped in and out of his vision. They came in an even more dizzying variety than the towers rising up all around them. Many seemed to follow the basic design concepts of an airplane. Many others, however, defied description. He saw everything from pseudo-jet fighters to floating rocks, spheres, and other shapes.
He did not, however, see anything that looked remotely like the ship in which he currently rode. He thought that might be significant, somehow.
Justin was ducking and weaving beside him, as if watching a car chase in 3-D. Their view dipped, and the broad expanse of the red tower had disappeared off to the side, rising up and away, over the command deck, and beyond the scope of the tilting view screen.
A large red space craft swept in past them, its aggressive moves clearly taking several of the smaller ships by surprise as they skittered out of its way. It was nearly the same shade as the tower overhead, and although much, much smaller, the design was similar enough to suggest a close, if distant, relationship. The brooding menace of the tower was clear in this smaller cousin, whose thick design suggested a belligerence not common among the other craft they had seen.
“Damned Variyar hotshots.” Angara spat the words as she swooped down to avoid the other ship’s wake, and then back up to resume her own path. “Always convinced they’re in a bigger hurry than anyone else.”
Marcus watched the big red ship as it swept toward one of the larger openings, came to a hovering stop, and then moved graceful into the dock. The white light emerging from within the building was eclipsed by the crimson bulk of the ship, and then massive blast doors irised closed, shutting out the remainder of the light.
“Hmmm … closing down an entire docking bay. Must be someone important.” Angara was bringing them to a much smaller opening. This close in, they were now alone, other ships no longer flitting in front of them, and Marcus felt he could relax a little.
The Yud’ahm Na’uka slid into the brightly lit opening, passing through a shimmering field as they did so. A large chamber, the size of a warehouse, opened up around them. Several ships were resting in white cradles. Marcus could feel his mouth fall open as he watched the scene unfolding before him, but he made no effort to close it. He knew that Justin looked just as dumbfounded.
Walking along the floor of the vast hall, most wearing no protective clothing that he could see, was an array of creatures straight out of a child’s worst nightmares. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some were tall and lanky, long robes fluttering around their legs, others were squat and fat, staring around belligerently as they stood, arms folded, around a small ship nearly as ugly. Some clearly had recognizable skin of half a hundred shades, while others were covered in hair, or scales, or completely shrouded in environment suits of countless different designs. As he continued to stare out, he noticed that far more of the workers here were Humanoid than he had first seen. Even the enormous, four-armed brutes muscling crates onto floating pallets could have passed for Human, other than that extra set of smaller arms beneath the usual pair.
“It’s like a zoo.” Justin was up again, standing beside Angara as she brought her ship into a gentle landing upon a cradle that had lit up as they approached. How she had known where to go, or when, he couldn’t have said. He assumed, however, that it had something to do with the robots in her head.
“A statement like that, overheard in the wrong quarters, will get you killed, Human.” She snapped at him, not taking her eyes off her landing. It was the first time she had given Justin a taste of whatever bias she held against the people of E
arth. Marcus was honest enough with himself to admit that he enjoyed the reversal.
Justin, however, barely noticed. “You think?” He was grinning, but still standing at the view screen. Marcus got up to join him as he turned to their pilot. “Don’t worry sweetheart. I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
With a slight shudder, the Na’uka settled onto the supports. White vapor shot out from beneath, drifting up to obscure their view for a moment, and then everything was still.
Angara gave a soft sigh, and shook out her hands as if they were cramping. The colored mist through which she seemed to control the ship had faded away. She looked up at the two men, regarding them with her clear, violet eyes. She seemed to assess them for several minutes, and once again Marcus was sure she was spending far more time, with far less pleasure, looking at him. With a shrug she rose, moving around her chair as it settled down into the floor.
“Come with me. We have to make some quick decisions. This is even busier than I had feared.” She pushed aside the hangings and moved back into the chamber that had already played host to so many of Marcus’s less pleasant memories. Justin followed eagerly, with no hesitation at all. After a moment, and a last glance out at the menagerie moving around in the docking bay outside, he followed as well.
The lighting had not changed in the cozy interior room. Maddeningly, there was still no source that Marcus could see. Angara was holding up two bundles of cloth, one to each of them. The look on her face brooked no discussion.
“You’re going to have to wear these. We’re not going to be able to make it to the control center without being seen, and there’s no way any of this will work if your first moments in the city feature me having to fight my way through a mob, dragging the two of you in plain view behind me.”
Justin took one bundle, and Marcus, after a moment and an impatient shake by the purple-skinned hand holding it out, took the other. They appeared to be heavy robes of some kind; dark, rough fabric with wide, heavy cowls.
“These shouldn’t arouse too much suspicion.”
Marcus shook his head, looking up from the strange garment. “Suspicion for what? What, exactly, are you trying to hide?”
She looked at him as if he was a total idiot, and again he was shaken to realize that so many facial expressions seemed to carry over between their cultures. When she spoke, it was with the tones one might use to direct a family pet well past its prime.
“That you’re Humans, of course.”
Chapter 8
The ramp beneath the outthrust flight deck lowered without a sound, and Angara Ksaka strode down with all the confidence she could muster, looking neither left nor right. She had not anticipated parading through the city with two Humans in tow, but she thought she was carrying it off well enough, all things considered.
Nestled amongst the myriad shocks and fears that continued to numb the Humans, their concern about vacuum was possibly the most irritating. Her explanations of auxiliary gravitic atmosphere fields and the small personal fields built into every article of clothing worn by the air breathers of Penumbra had done little to allay their concerns. In fact, she was not entirely convinced that they had even understood half of what she had said.
Despite her warnings, neither man seemed capable of keeping his head down. Instead, they were twisting this way and that, mooning around them like two farmers off their homeworld for the first time. She smiled at the thought, and then immediately crushed the reaction. They were farmers off their pathetic homeworld for the first time, as far as any of the galactics around them might care. And if any sentient nearby discovered which planet they called home, all three of them would probably die before Iphini Bha could send help. If anyone from the administrator’s office would be brave enough to come after them.
“Stop looking around.” She muttered, keeping her lips steady. “You need to keep your faces hidden.”
She knew the pale one resented this. She could even sympathize with him to a certain extent. But that sympathy only went so far. Yes, she was an unappreciated exile from a despised race, but that was still an eternity from being a Human, for the love of all things! Thankfully, Marcus Wells was keeping his resentments to himself for the moment. She figured it was possible that even he had realized the potential for trouble in this new environment.
At the far end of the bay a set of large blast doors were open. She could see the Variyar transport in the primary bay beyond, its dedicated ground crew bustling about the squat, ugly ship. There was only one being in all of Penumbra who could cause such a commotion. Whether he was arriving or departing, her greatest concern at the moment was getting them off the flight deck before he showed up.
She had notified Bha as soon as they had docked. The deputy would be waiting for them at the door to the control center, a pathway clear to the administrator’s office. She had had to dodge some uncomfortable questions as they planned, but the timid Iwa’Bantu’s normal reserve had made it much easier than it might have been.
Now all she had to do was walk two Humans through the busiest port in the city and all the way up to the control center with no one the wiser.
There was a sudden uproar at the main entrance, off to their left. She had been moving her charges to a small, little-used side door, but even here the crowd was being drawn toward the tumult. She felt a sinking feeling in her gut and glanced at the Variyar ship. A small party of warriors in full dress regalia had emerged through the blast doors, standing stiffly as if waiting to be judged.
She reached back and grabbed the two men by their shoulders, snarling as she realized the dark one had slung his heavy bag beneath the borrowed robe. Neither of them had the faintest idea how much danger they were really in. Both had been busy sneaking glances all around despite her repeated warnings, and were craning their necks to see what the disturbance might be. She tried to pull them against the movement of the crowd, toward the small, unassuming service door, but she knew even as she pulled that it was too late. They were swept along with a tide of sentients, all moving toward the main entrance.
Angara knew what she would see. She could even understand the fascination building in the crowd. In such an enlightened age as this, when violence was publicly shunned by the Galactic Council and the vast majority of its member civilizations, the anachronistic warriors of the Variyar were a rare, fascinating sight. Nearly every galactic culture had put violence so far behind them that even under the heavy hand of the Council, direct rebellion was all but unthinkable.
The Variyar exiles who made Penumbra their home were a distinct exception to that rule.
Angara was not an expert on Variyar history or politics, but she had conducted some rudimentary research into their ruler-in-exile, K’hzan Modath, in the course of her duties to the city. One of the more long-lived races to roam the galaxy, the exiled king and his martial entourage had been ensconced in the city for far longer than Angara had been alive.
Lost in the mists of myth and legend now, the Variyar were said to have once been one of the most powerful races in the galaxy. Second only to the great Enemy, some claimed. And in much more recent history, as the hereditary ruler of that race, K’hzan had been a violent opponent of the disarmament protocols pushed on his people by a Council consolidating its power over the galaxy. When the Council fleet, incorporating the military might of every other major polity to have already succumbed, was finally dispatched to decommission the Variyar navy one way or the other, they found the system defenseless, the majority of complacent denizens left to the mercy of the Council while their king had disappeared with the full might of his fleet, along with those subjects who chose a life in exile over safety beneath the yoke of the Council. It was supposed that he had grown exhausted in the end, fighting both the Council itself and their appeasers among his own race.
No one knew where K’hzan and his fleet had gone. None of Angara’s sources had been able to enlighten her. What was common knowledge, however, was that the king had been missing, and then had ap
peared in Penumbra with no warning or fanfare, and no sign of the fleet he had taken from Variya. There were stories, of course, of adventurers and fools through the years who had sought to track the king’s movements when he left the city. Whether motivated by greed, a thirst for vengeance, or simple curiosity, none of those brave enough to follow had ever returned. Eventually, K’hzan Modath and the mystery of his hidden fleet were merely seen as a given, and no further attempts had been made to chase after them. Over time, unbeknownst to any of the self-professed authorities in the city, a large swath of the Red Tower, formerly an ancient Variyar warship, had been secured by agents of the king. He moved into the enclave without delay and had made it his home ever since.
Except that he rarely spent long stretches of time in Penumbra. He was often away, coming and going through the city surrounded by a wave of excited spectators, shielded by the towering warriors of his personal guard. Despite his exile, he had never relinquished the trappings or ceremony of his position.
Sure enough, as she watched, two towering, red-skinned figures pushed out of the crowd, forcing the beings in the doorway back and away. They moved with a strange, fluid grace, the reverse bend in their knees allowing for more freedom of movement, she always assumed, and a lower center of gravity.
More warriors followed, their shimmering armor strange and exotic in a culture where such equipment, outside of the Council enforcers and Peacemakers, was all but unheard of. Their faces were impassive, eyes tight as they surveyed the crowed, sweeping racks of black horn rising above their heads.
Each warrior held a ceremonial blade, burnished copper with glittering crimson gems, in a formal pose that did not waver with each strong step. She had seen this before, but knew how impressive it must appear to the Humans. She even had to admit to a certain appreciation herself. Outside of this unit and their ceremonial regard for their king, such martial displays had been vanishingly rare in living memory.
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